


with words i thought i'd never speak

by coulson_is_an_avenger



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexuality, Aspec Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Discussions of Asexuality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Acephobia, Kissing, M/M, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), a love letter to boundaries and trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29416305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coulson_is_an_avenger/pseuds/coulson_is_an_avenger
Summary: “I want to make you happy,” Martin finally says, his voice breaking the silence like a hammer swinging forward to shatter glass, and when Jon glances over, he sees him looking down and away like it’s some sort of confession. “But I don’t want to go too far. I’m sorry.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 23
Kudos: 248





	with words i thought i'd never speak

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Eve, folks, I am here to provide an offering of ace4ace jmart, because I think I personally deserve it, and this idea simply would not get out of my head <3
> 
> Title is from the song "Famous Last Words" by MCR because dear god it's THE ace anthem.
> 
> Content warnings for references to past bullying, objectification, and sexual acts, as well as some pretty significant themes of low self worth. Please stay safe!

Jon has grown fond of these moments in the dark where he gets to discover Martin in new, tactile ways with his hands and lips and breath.

After the years he’s spent forcing down his emotions to prioritize survival, and then having to stand back and watch Martin reel himself deeper and deeper into the Lonely, it feels utterly unbelievable that they finally get to reach out, that they get to have this with each other. Jon hadn’t wanted to even let go of Martin from the moment they stepped out of the Lonely, and the feeling had been largely reciprocated as Martin held fast to his hand and to his arm and then let Jon hold _him_ when the agony of returning emotions shattered him from the inside out. They’d been in orbit around each other so long that it’s only natural that now they’ve come crashing into each other, and Jon wants nothing more than to linger in this welcome.

And after several conversations and tearful confessions, and a furious drive all the way from London to Scotland, they have ended up here. Like so many other nights, they’re wrapped around each other in an embrace that almost looks protective, even though no dangers immediately approach, and their attention is fully focused on each other as they trade kisses and touches and whispers and laughs and love.

Jon loves the space he gets to occupy in Martin’s arms, loves the way he gets to gather him up against his chest, against his lips, and hold him close until they grow tired and drift off to sleep. There’s something unnameable and wonderful about holding his anchor in his arms and getting to shower him with affection over and over, and Jon treasures every bit of it.

Martin is just as desperate to be near to him, and he clings on just as tightly as Jon does on these nights, and he’s such a source of radiance, of home and of beauty and of brilliance that it leaves Jon breathless. And, to add on to it, Martin is _careful_ with everything he does. He doesn’t ever rush into a touch with the intent of surprise; he is careful to make sure his intentions are known each time, in every little way, and the thoughtfulness of that alone melts Jon down to his fear-marked bones.

“Is this okay?” Martin is so careful as he moves a hand to Jon’s cheek. It doesn’t matter that this was okay last night, only that it might not be okay tonight, so he double checks, and the consideration warms Jon just as much as the kisses do. He nods, and _leans_ into the hand cupped around his cheek, presses himself into Martin’s touch like a starved cat, aching and wanting.

“Is this okay?” Fingers dance over his ribs, light enough to nearly tickle, but solid enough that they feel almost grounding. “Yes,” Jon tells him, against his lips, breathless. Martin shifts against him, using the hand on his cheek to tilt his head up and leaning in. 

“Is this alright?” Martin’s mouth is under his jaw, poised at the edge of the raised scar Daisy left behind; the place his skin knit itself back together and stitched inside the primal fear of being prey. The promise of Martin’s lips is soothing against it, and Jon confirms emphatically once more, and then he sucks in a little gasp as Martin kisses his throat, just over the scar, with more gentleness than he could have prepared himself for.

 _God_ , Martin’s gentleness undoes him. After years of ceaseless terror and near-constant blows tossed against his body as if it meant nothing, this softness, this kindness feels so overwhelming he could drown in it.

Martin’s face comes back into view as the hand against his ribs shifts, running down to his side, and Jon’s so at peace he has to struggle to keep his eyes open. It’s worth it though, to watch the little curve at the edge of Martin’s lips, and to see the open, cautious affection spilling out of his eyes like an overflowing cup of tea. He wants to pull him in again, wants to return the adoration and shower Martin in all the affection he deserves, but he can see another question bubbling up on Martin’s lips, and so he forces himself to wait. 

“Is this okay?” Martin asks, sure enough, his hands tugging at the hem of Jon’s shirt, and it’s only then that Jon notices something in his tone is different. It doesn’t sound like the other times, breathy but insistent, seeking clarity and consent. Something has shifted between his last question and this one, and his voice wavers dangerously at the last word; uncertain and catching on hesitation at the corners of his throat, and it’s so unlike the other times that Jon’s focus narrows in on the tone in an instant.

Worry blooms across his face.

“I—” His voice is breathless, and he tries to get it back under control. This is important. “M-maybe. Why do you ask it like that?” He asks it as gently as he can, making absolutely certain that the static of compulsion has no room in his mouth. He hopes his face is as open and soft as he feels, and he tilts his head curiously for added effect, his loose hair falling over his shoulder.

The attempt does not seem to work, and Martin’s eyes widen sharply. He immediately looks unsteady, like his change of tone has gotten him in trouble, and now he stands on a pedestal, accused. “Like what?”

“It’s not- it’s not bad,” Jon rushes in, too quickly, and then has to pull back to think for a moment. “I— Like you’re not sure. Like…” Jon’s expression turns quizzical. “Like you don’t know if you can ask? Or… if it’s okay?” He shakes his head slightly, forcing himself to get the question out. “What’s wrong?”

“I-“ Martin looks utterly caught, eyes blown wide with a million racing emotions behind them, but he shuts his mouth and doesn’t deny it, and the turmoil he’s glimpsing makes Jon _very_ glad he stopped to check in on him for this.

Jon pulls away from where they had been nearly nose to nose and sits up, gently untangling himself and then taking Martin’s hands in his. He holds them like they’re precious, tries to cover his hands with his own, even though Martin’s are stubbornly bigger than his. Martin’s breathing is speeding up, Jon can see, and his chest _pinches_ with the sudden fear that he’s missed something important and now Martin is hurt.

“Martin,” He tries again, hopelessly earnest, but as soft as he can be. “Is all of this okay with _you?”_

Martin’s quickened breath hitches, and where once was determined affection, now there is a glimpse of something exposed as well. Something raw, and vulnerable, and terribly uncertain. He swallows, looks away. “It’s— I love you. You know that, we talked about this.”

Jon nods, slowly, ignoring the way his ears burn at hearing that truth once again. “We did. But…”

Martin is trying to rein his breathing back in, his dark skin flickering translucent as he visibly trying to keep himself from fading. He takes an especially deep breath and shifts around until he’s leaning back against the wall that borders their bed, his hands still caught in Jon’s. “I’ve never… this is sort of new to me?” He begins, his voice awkward and wavering like he doesn’t know what he’s meant to say. 

“I can definitely say the same.” Jon agrees, and he shifts to sit next to Martin, leaning back against the wall beside him, and letting go of Martin’s left hand in the process. He keeps his right hand in his lap, and runs a thumb over the back of his palm in a gesture he hopes is reassuring. “We don’t… we don’t need to talk if you don’t want to. You can take your time, or—”

“No. No, we should.” Martin sighs, and then sucks his lip in between his teeth and goes very still; breathing in and out steadily, his forehead pinched.

“Alright,” Jon murmurs, and he leans their shoulders together for reassurance. He wants to listen, _wants_ to understand, in the most human way he’s capable of, and he’d be content to sit beside Martin and let him think for all of eternity if needed. “Take your time.”

Martin’s quiet for a long time, minutes or maybe half an hour, seemingly pulling his thoughts together, and Jon sits beside him, occasionally running his thumb over his knuckles in quiet encouragement. 

“I want to make you happy,” Martin finally says, his voice breaking the silence like a hammer swinging forward to shatter glass, and when Jon glances over, he sees him looking down and away like it’s some sort of confession. “But I don’t want to go too far. I’m sorry.”

Each word feels painful, like it’s been picked up from the remnants of broken bone. Jon’s chest bursts with the vulnerability of it, and then he fully processes what Martin’s actually saying, and oh. _Oh._ A dam of affection breaks within Jon and he cannot help the enamored, hopelessly sad smile that comes to life all over his face. “Oh, _Martin._ ” Jon breathes, and he wants to continue, but Martin has worked up steam and isn’t about to let himself be reassured.

“I know, I _know_ that that’s a part of relationships and whatnot, I know there’s expectations and I love you, I _really_ do,” A quiet, almost self-deprecating laugh tears out of him at that. “But some things are just… I don’t know. It isn’t because of the Lonely, but that certainly didn’t help straighten anything out and I…” He slows, seemingly startled out of his rambling. “I just don’t know how to navigate this. I want to- to make you feel good? If that makes sense, but I hadn’t realized how in my head about it I was getting, and I’m sorry, I’m _sorry—“_

Jon had been sitting in silence, listening with his whole body, but at the fervent apology his chest completely seizes up and he shifts to look him dead in the eye, cutting him off. “Martin Blackwood, light of my life, I haven’t told you I’m asexual yet, have I?”

Martin freezes, brows drawing together in a moment of sheer surprise, before his eyes widen almost comically, and he turns to meet Jon’s stare head on. “You-“

Jon could _sing_ , but the air in his chest bursts out in a small laugh instead. “Yes, quite. That’s actually a conversation I was planning on having with you at some point. But, well. Beat me there, I suppose.”

Martin opens his mouth to reply - something brilliant and well versed, no doubt - but instead tears spring to his eyes and he makes a little choked off sound and turns away.

“Oh, oh Martin, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jon mumbles, tripping over himself. “I-I-I didn’t mean to make this about me, I just-”

“No, no,” He squeezes the hand still clasped in Jon’s own. “It’s fine. I just…” A little laugh escapes him. “God, I was thinking you’d hate me.”

Jon makes a noise like his heart’s been torn out of him, because he _gets_ it. Honestly, he’s had some similar fears himself when thinking about breaching the topic. It has faded away some in the recent days - Martin just radiates safety, and it’s hard for Jon to remember his insecurities when confronted with that - but he knows it intimately, as sure as an old friend. You never quite leave behind that ‘what if’, he knows, but he still wants to wipe it from Martin’s mind.

 _“Martin,”_ He says very carefully, and pours every bit of honesty he has in his being into the sentence. “I _care_ about you. And I certainly wouldn’t go back on that affection because of some- of some _abrasive_ societal norms you aren’t comfortable following. Christ, I would never. Even if I didn’t feel the same.”

Martin rubs his free hand over his face, hiding his eyes and exhaling deeply. He nods, over and over again, and Jon strokes his fingers over the hand he still has clenched in his lap before opening his mouth to speak again.

“That being said. Can I ask - y-you don’t have to answer - but, can I ask what it was that, um, that frightened you? We weren’t exactly doing anything sexual, but I.” Jon inhales. “I’d like to know?”

What Jon can see of Martin’s face contorts into an expression of deep frustration, and Jon squeezes his hand once again. “I was just- asking about your shirt? And obviously if you had said no, that’d’ve been fine, but for me… it just.” Martin trails off, his eyes pinched shut. “It shouldn’t be a problem. I just… got caught up in wanting to make you happy and- spiraled a bit, I guess. Went too far.”

“Oh," It's more of an exhale than a word, but it leaves Jon with force. "You make me happy by just being here, by just being real.” He whispers, confusion tinging his voice. He reaches a hand up to trace his cheek, and Martin leans into it, just a bit. “You don’t have to do anything more to make me happy. A-and even then… Why push yourself? You clearly care about my comfort, why even ask if it’s going to overstep your own?”

“Because it _shouldn’t_ matter,” Martin forces out, his hand twitching in Jon’s own like he’s thinking of pulling it back. “I…” He does tug his hand back then, just so he can press both hands against his face and hide there. It’s clear that he wants to say more, his whole body shakes with it.

“You can tell me,” Jon says quietly, his empty hands flexing on his knees. “If you want.”

“People used to say things about me,” Martin whispers, his voice high and vulnerable in the quiet of the cabin. His words stick together between his shuddering breaths, but he gets them out anyways, and Jon listens. “Really cruel stuff. Things that kids shouldn’t have to hear. But, when I got older, people started noticing me more, so I chased it, a bit. It was fun at first,” He bites his lip. “But a lot of them had pretty mixed up ideas about what it meant to be a person versus an object of… of desire or lust or _whatever.”_

Jon makes a little sound of sympathy, and tucks his hands in his lap to keep them from reaching out and distracting Martin, who sighs and lets one of his hands drop from his face.

“Even then I didn’t exactly hate it.” He admits bitterly, curling into himself. “Then I spent a lot of time trying different things out and not quite liking what I learned, but… I sort of convinced myself it was just that I had had a bad experience or something? But… it was eventually clear that it was just me.” He scrubs at his face with his remaining hand. “It was all just too _much_ , y’know? Sex, I mean. There’s just- there’s _so_ much going on at once, I-” He stops himself, shakes his head. “It just always ended up being an ordeal. Kept doing it though.” A hint of pride touches his voice, before immediately being buried by regret. “I’ve always been good at taking care of people, so when… when I figured out that was what most people wanted, it just. It didn’t matter what I was okay with or not. Just what I had to do. Started losing track of what exactly I _was_ okay with.”

Jon makes a sound of distress against his will, just a little grunt of apology, the kind he’s sure Martin never got, never even asked for, and Martin flinches when he hears. His voice cracks and he shoves his face deeper into his hands and he sounds like he might be crying. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to lump you in with everyone else, I just… _God_. I didn’t mean to even _think_ about it I just— I want you to be happy so badly it _hurts_ , and I wasn’t expecting you to _see_ me-“

A wave of protectiveness surges over Jon, and he moves forward, closing the distance between them to wrap his bony hands around Martin’s soft wrists and guide his hands away from his face with all the care he can muster. “You don’t need to be sorry.” He whispers, and he makes sure to look directly into Martin’s wide brown eyes. “It matters to _me.”_ The words come out fierce, and Jon’s glad for it. They burn in his chest, on his tongue. It’s fitting that they should burn as he speaks them too. “You don’t have to push yourself to give more than you want to, I never ever want that.” 

“But you looked like you were enjoying yourself,” Martin whispers, miserable tears still clustered around his eyes like birds on a wire. He grips Jon’s hands in his own.

“I was. I like kissing you,” Jon says truthfully, and squeezes his hands. “And if you had asked to put a hand down my trousers I would have said no. I have boundaries I won’t cross, even for you. And that should go both ways. Whether I’m enjoying myself or not is irrelevant to your wellbeing.” He looks into Martin’s eyes with fervor, making sure every single word sinks in. “You don’t ever have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. Even for my benefit. _Especially_ not because of that. I’m still going to love you.” The words leave him softly. He hasn’t said that yet, and he doesn’t know if it’s the right time, but he can’t bear holding them in for any longer. He _needs_ to hear it. 

Martin inhales _sharply_ , but he’s still shaking his head just a bit, the last vestiges of his stubborn will clinging on. 

“I just— I’ve taken so much from you already.” Martin’s voice sounds strangled, like he’s speaking from beneath a great weight. Jon’s heart _aches_. The idea that Martin has taken more than he deserves is nearly laughable when Jon owes him more than he could even begin to put into words. “You went into the Lonely for me, Jon, I— the least I can do is-“

“Martin,” Jon cuts him off solidly, letting go of his hands to grip his shoulders tightly, his own voice shaking from how badly he needs to get this across. “ _Please_ believe me when I say I would let you take my heart clear out of my body if you desired, and never ask for anything in return.” He _means it_.

Martin laughs, a desperate, wet thing, wiping uselessly at his eyes. “That’s not very healthy, Jon.”

Jon fixes him with a serious look, eyes wide. “Neither is forcing yourself to give more of yourself than you’re comfortable with. Look, I’m fine with… trying things, if you want to test your own boundaries, so long as they don’t go too far over my own, but I will _not_ aid you in crossing ones you already know. Not for my sake, or anyone’s.”

Martin’s gaze is a half-shattered thing, his eyes sparkling with an unnameable gratitude, and a life’s worth of alienation from his own needs. It’s going to take him a while to learn it, Jon knows, but _Christ_ , he deserves to at least be aware that he can start. “Thank you,” He manages.

“Martin,” Jon breathes, by way of response, and leans in to press their foreheads together like he’s trying to crawl into Martin’s space, into his mind, trying to push out the doubts and fill them with reassurance, with support, with this vast thing they’ve found and created in each other. “Martin,” he repeats. “Of course.”

Martin makes a choked little sound, but pushes back against the pressure on his forehead, leaning up some so that their noses brush. Jon exhales slowly, running his hands over Martin’s shoulders and feeling the tension in his muscles slowly unwind.

“May I kiss you?” Jon asks quietly, after several moments of silence, and he pulls back from their embrace to search Martin’s face. “You don’t have to say yes.”

Martin opens his eyes to look at him, plain affection bleeding out into the space between them, and Jon watches him dig inside himself for the courage to ask for elaboration. It’s a messy expression on his face, but he gets the words out. He gets the words out. “Do you expect anything more?”

A smile is building inside Jon, so large it feels like it takes up his entire body, taking root in his lungs.

“No, I don’t.” Jon breathes, honestly.

“Then yeah,” Martin says, a little smile breaking out across his teary face, and in this moment, this wonderful, precious moment, he looks safe again. “Please.”

The smile builds in his chest, and Jon dips his head to press his lips against Martin’s as gently as he can; spilling his insides through the touch. The kiss is featherlight and Jon hopes it conveys even an ounce of the depth of his devotion, of his uncontainable love for this man. It’s not a means to anything; there’s no heat to it or unspoken question for more. It’s a word, a whisper of a promise to be there, to be understanding, to choose to love. Martin presses into it, just a bit, and Jon lingers before pulling back, lips tingling like the first time.

“Martin Blackwood,” Jon breathes into the stillness left between them, affection dripping from the corners of his smile. “I love you.”

The sound Martin makes is half a sob, half a declaration of affection, and he buries his face in Jon’s embrace.

“Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading!! Have a wonderful day and take care of yourselves in general, lovely people!!
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated <3 <3


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